


Remember Me

by boundxdoll



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 19:10:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2518676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boundxdoll/pseuds/boundxdoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been over a year since the season four finale, and Peter has amnesia. It's time to start rehabilitating him and the only person who wants to give it a shot is his secret boyfriend Stiles. Somebody who he can't remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember Me

**Author's Note:**

> beta reading done by mayhem

It had been one year since the events that had taken place with the Benefactor, since Peter had been locked away in Eichen House. He’d been pacified by a coma, trapped inside of his mind once again. It was a fate worse than death for the power-hungry werewolf. There had been other treatments, things used as they had tried to figure out what made Peter tick. It was through a mishap, however, that Peter was rendered an amnesiac. He had forgotten everything since before the fire; everything after Paige’s death had been lost. 

Nobody knew, because nobody would understand, but ever since the Nogitsune had been dealt with, Peter and Stiles had formed a relationship. It was a secret. A well-kept one, to say the least. They had kept everyone in the dark about it even to this day. It was easier to keep a secret when one person couldn’t remember, but that didn’t make it easy on the person who could. At the time, he knew it was best for the safety of Beacon Hills that Peter be locked away. Maybe it was some fairytale fantasy that the man he loved, the _lunatic_ he adored, could receive help. Just maybe Peter could be a better person.

Stiles had visited him every day while Peter was in that coma. He had held his hand and told him stories. With Eichen so busy, nobody ever noticed him coming and going. It wasn’t like anyone other than him cared about the wolf anyway. Sure, Derek cared enough to keep paying for the treatment, even being nice enough to not use Peter’s own money to do so, but when it came time for rehabilitation, nobody wanted to put forth the time to actually help him. Stiles did. Stiles wanted to have his wolf back. 

Stiles _needed_ his wolf back.

\-----

His head was an empty place; the hate in his heart hadn’t been burned into it yet. That didn’t make him a _good_ person. Perhaps Peter was never a _good_ person, but he wasn’t always a lunatic. The doctors had said that he would be starting therapy now that he was awake. They were going to try and help him with his memory. It wasn’t that they wanted it back; it was that they needed it back. Whether the pack liked it or not, Peter was useful. He knew a lot of things that sometimes Deaton didn’t, and it was better to have somebody like that awake and in a cage than useless and asleep. 

The only person who had volunteered to help him was Stiles. Derek still needed time to think it over, and Scott was completely against having anything to do with helping him; he just wanted it done. 

That was what put Stiles sitting at a steel table as Peter was wheeled into the room. There was a grimace on Stiles’ face as he saw the blank expression on Peter’s. This was the man he loved, and Peter didn’t even know it. There was something more painful in knowing that Peter didn’t know what they had, than if Peter had just blatantly left him.

“They said you were here to help me? Do I even know you?” Peter asked his voice accusatory where once it had been full of trust. 

“You do, but you don’t remember. I’m Stiles. Stiles Stilinski,” the younger male answered, his voice low and full of ache. He just wanted Peter back.

“As in John Stilinski?” Peter asked, head tilting to the side. He knew a John Stilinski. 

“That’s my dad. You might have known my mother, too. Her name was Claudia. She died a while ago.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed as if he was studying Stiles’ face. “Yeah, you have her eyes. I remember her.” 

“I just want you to remember me,” the boy said with his voice feather soft and laced with heartache.

Something about that hurt him more than anything else. 

\-----

Peter wasn’t sure why this boy seemed so sad to see him, or why there seemed to be an ache in his chest. Why did he feel an ache for this boy? It didn’t make sense. He didn’t even know him. He sat there, watching the boy, sitting back in his chair and studying him. Why did this kid want to help him? Where was Derek? The only thing he   
remembered was that he and Derek were close, and that it was his fault that the girl Derek had loved was now dead. He had been sitting here for several long moments now, and Stiles had been talking the whole time, and instead of listening, Peter was staring at him, watching the way his mouth moved. 

There was just something about this boy, but he had no memory of it. He had no idea who this kid was, or why he was here trying to help him.

Finally, after several more moments, Peter’s blue eyes drifted up to Stiles’ honey-brown hues, and his gaze stayed locked there. Vaguely, he had heard the other male talk about things that sounded like he should remember them, but he hadn’t been paying attention at all until Stiles’ cheeks had flushed and the word relationship had fallen from those beautiful lips. _He was with…this kid?_ Peter would have never guessed.

“Did you just say that you and I were seeing one another?” Peter asked, and he almost sounded like he didn’t believe it, and that was partially the case. However, his disbelief wasn’t anything to do with Stiles, but instead with himself. He didn’t realize just how much he might not know about himself with all of the years that he’d lost. 

“Are. We… _are_ seeing each other. I mean, once you get your memory back,” he said meekly, looking down at his hands. 

“What if I don’t get my memory back?” Peter asked, the realism seated deep in his tone.

“Then I’ll just have to win your heart back.” Stiles’ voice rang with finality. He had found something that he didn’t want to let go of.

There were no words spoken after that, because what does one say in return to somebody whose voice sounded with such emotion, such determination?  
\-----  
They saw each other every day for the next couple of months. No progress was made. Stiles had tried different ways: bringing mementos, wearing outfits Peter had liked, talking about their secret dates. Nothing made him remember. It had gotten to the point that Stiles was close to giving up, something very rare for the boy who would fight to his very last breath. It was becoming more and more depressing to see Peter each day only for no result to come out positive, and he knew that the man was getting frustrated with failing to remember. Even without his memories, Peter hated failure, especially when it was his own.

It was a little different this time. Peter had made a small advance in the right direction when he told Stiles about a dream he had. The dream had actually been a memory, a memory of a time when they had been at their happiest. 

“It was raining really hard, one of the first hard rains of the summer, and you were stuck at my place because the thunder wouldn’t let up, and I wouldn’t let you leave. You were clutching to me, holding onto me like I was keeping you tethered to this world. Maybe I was, maybe that’s how you felt. I sat you down on my lap, and I put the earbuds for my iPod into your ears and played the songs that you had put on there that made you think of us.” He paused to swallow, because even though he didn’t remember, there were feelings that had attached themselves to this dream. “We made love like that, with you on my lap, the drapes closed tight so you couldn’t see the lightning. There were candles lit, because the power was out, but we made love to the sound of music that you had chosen for us.” His voice sounded a little distant, like he was trying to remember, but the only thing he could remember was his dream. The only memory he had of them was something that he didn’t really know for himself if it was real or not real. 

Stiles was staring at him the entire time he spoke, his jaw slack, his eyes watering a little, because that was one of his favorite memories. That was something that he had held onto every day he had come here. It was the memory of Peter holding him and being there for him when Stiles needed him _every damn time_. It took him a few more moments to gather his senses before he wiped a stray tear – or several - from his ruddy cheeks. Overcome with emotion, with a need to feel that closeness once more, Stiles stood from the table, and it looked like he might leave because his face was unreadable. Sure, it read of emotion, but it wasn’t clear what brand, and Peter was too focused on Stiles’ actions to pick up the scent. In a few short strides, Stiles had pushed Peter’s wheelchair back and took the older male’s face into his hands. Long delicate fingers framed that beautiful bone structure as chestnut earth looked into the ocean before, like waves to sand, Stiles’ lips crashed into Peter’s.  
\-----  
It wasn’t immediate, but those lips felt so familiar, like home, like something he had been missing for almost a year and a half. Those lips felt like every dream come true, like childhood wonder. They felt warm and perfect against his own, and all Peter could think about was how he wanted to feel those lips, this kiss, for an eternity of eternities. He wanted to feel that closeness, more of it, all of it, everything that this boy had to offer, he wanted. Eyes closed and heart pounding, Peter’s strong fingers laced together at the back of Stiles’ neck and held him there as the wolf kissed him deeper, as if he were making up for lost time --and he was.  
\-----  
The memories were slow to come back, and some would take a while to fully return, but he knew what he needed to know for now, and together they could work on the rest. _Together._ Peter wasn’t a good man, not by any means, and he would never be a good man. The goodness that he did have was because of Stiles. Stiles made him a better person. Stiles brought out the best in Peter, even when he was still at his worst. 

Some people didn’t believe in soul mates, and those people didn’t know the truth, because they had never felt what Peter and Stiles had. They never knew dedication like they did. Those people who didn’t believe, didn’t know what it was like to have somebody try and fail for half of a year, only to wake up their love with a kiss.


End file.
